Lost Time
by Eve'sStories
Summary: This story is about a Girl. An Ex-Army Runaway. A Computer Hacker. A Bank President. And an Adventure that they will never forget


**Hello! Quick Author's Note. This story is based off a Harry** Potter Tumblr Textpost.

In my mind, I have Emma Watson playing Katherine, Rupert Grint playing Michael, Tom Felton playing Sam and Daniel Radcliffe playing Adam. Enjoy :)

Lost Time

'Lost time is never found again.  
That is a quote by some famous person that I probably should know, but don't. Throughout all my years of school, every painfully boring class and every lousy teacher, it was this quote that stood out to me. I really don't know why it did, because I rarely paid any attention during English class, or History, whatever subject that quote was from. Even after I left school, and hopelessly struggled my way through countless awful jobs, that usually ended in me getting fired for some reason or another, like stocking the shelves wrong, I still thought of that quote nearly every day.

My life currently revolves around that quote, and I know that without it I wouldn't be where I am today. Some people may argue that that would be a good thing, but I'll laugh at them, because for the first time in my life, I'm happy.

My story starts off when I realised just what the quote meant to me.  
The first time that quote truly spoke to me, I was 21. I still hadn't landed myself a stable job or income, and it was that quote that made me think ; "What am I doing with my life?" Sitting down on my parent's new, leather couch, slumped over in a old grey sweatshirt and tracksuit and watching dreadful daytime television, wasn't what I wanted to do. The truth was, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I never went to University, never got outstanding grades and never thought about what life might be like outside of my parent's cosy sitting room. And so when that quote sprung into my mind, I realised I had wasted three whole years of my life doing nothing.

The second time was just after my Dad was killed by a drunk driver. I had older parents and my Mum wasn't planning to do anything big with the extra money he left her, so it was given to me. It was at the funeral when the quote popped into my grief-ridden brain, and I realised with sadness that Dad never got to accomplish all the goals he set himself ; Climbing Ben Nevis, cycling the length of Britain or travelling the world. It was then that I vowed to do whatever I wanted to do before I got too old.

The next time was when I was standing in front of my full length mirror in my small bedroom. I studied my reflection carefully, taking in every little detail. I was tall, but not graceful nor lanky. I was never skinny, nor was I fat. My plain, brown hair was straight and parted in the middle. My deep brown eyes were nothing special. I was never beautiful, and I used to roll my eyes at the other girls, who wore layers upon layers of make up that you could scrape off with a knife. I never bothered with make up, to me it was just a waste of valuable money ( that could be spent on DvDs). I was as plain as plain could be. I was built for blending into crowds. If people looked at me, they forgot my face in an instant. I was one face in billions, nothing special. It was then when I realised I _wanted_ to be something special. I _wanted_ to look back on my life when I was ninety-nine and say, "Yes. Mission Accomplished." My quiet life in the English countryside was not giving me the thrill of feeling alive, and I realised that I wanted, no, _needed_ that thrill. I was wasting time.

It's not like my family were disadvantaged in any way. If I had wanted to go to University, I could, but it never appealed to me. So far in my life I had done nothing, and I wanted to change that. As I stared out at the pouring rain, I knew I couldn't stay where there was nothing for me.

Looking back from where I am now, I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice. Two weeks after my prolonged look in the mirror, my mind was made up. As of October 24th, I was going to move to London. The bustling, busy streets of the capital were just the change I needed. I knew my Mum would support me, as she so often did, but I still felt guilty for leaving. Guilt comes in varying degrees, my Dad always said, and it usually depends on your reaction to your situation. All I was doing was moving 2 hours south. That didn't stop me from avoiding telling my Mum that I was moving until the week before. As I sat on my bed and stared hard at the light blue walls of my bedroom, my Mum gave me a bone-crushing hug. I miss her, and I often wonder if my new lifestyle is worth losing a mother for.

With my quote the driving force in my mind, I boarded a one-way train to London. My goodbyes to my family and friends were short and sweet, I was never good at goodbyes. My Mum was the only one who's goodbye left a scar etched on my heart. She gave me a necklace with a small, silver, glistening clock on it. Her words still echo around my head when I think of her, "The time is in your hands, Kath, don't lose it." Her smile reached her eyes, which, like mine, were brimming with tears. I didn't ask how she knew of my quote, or of my ambition to live before time caught up with me. I nodded instead, not trusting myself to speak, in case I cried. I quickly hopped on the train and took a seat in the far corner. Mindlessly twirling the clock necklace around my shaking fingers, I stared out the window at the countryside which flew by me, and I knew that leaving was the right thing to do.

My story, like most stories, has a beginning, a middle and an end. My beginning was on a stuffy train to London...

I like to think of my life as a jigsaw puzzle, but most of my pieces are missing. It was on the long train journey down to London that I found the first piece. I had headphones on, and I was blissfully ignoring the rest of the train, when a scruffy looking man sat down across from me. Ignoring him too, I hummed along to my various favourite artists, only stopping when I noticed him staring at me.

"Can I help you?" I eventually asked, annoyed, as I took off my headphones.  
"Where are you heading to?" he asked, a smirk playing on his thin lips.  
"London." I replied shortly, promptly putting my headphones back on, and turned the other way.  
"That's interesting."

I hummed in response, and turned to stare out the window again. The countryside flew past. The trees' leaves were a beautiful mixture of yellow, orange and red. They merged with the blue, autumn sky and colourful plants, creating a swirling pattern so beautiful I was transfixed. A smile had slithered it's way onto my lips, and I let it stay there. I was beginning a new life, I was starting afresh.

"Why are you moving?"

I started at the question, because he hadn't spoke for a while. I opened my mouth to gleefully answer, "Because I want to live!" but stopped short. How on earth did he know I was moving? I could have been going for a holiday, or visiting relatives. I narrowed my eyes and finally got a good look at him.

He had scruffy, ginger hair and a stubble. His eyes were a light mix between blue and green. They looked tired, as did his pale face and he reeked of coffee. He was wearing a crinkly red and white squared top (the third from top button was in the wrong hole) and he had a large, brown carrier bag beside him.

"Why would I tell you?" I finally answered.  
"I don't know." He replied and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, grinning.  
"How d'you know I was moving?" I blurted out, my curiosity outshining everything else.  
"I've a knack for spotting things. I can tell you want to move to London to start new. Cause...?"

I was taken aback. How did he know? I thought about answering him, and quickly decided that I would.

"I want to live." I stated, and a smirk appeared at his lips.  
"I can help with that. Need a job?" He asked, searching his brown carrier bag for something.

To this day, I still had no idea what I was thinking. Maybe it was the adrenline, maybe it was just the idea of a job, but I accepted. I know I should have questioned him more, before even considering it, but for some reason I didn't.

"Yeah. What kind?"I asked eagerly.

"How good are you at acting?" he smiled.

My mind whirred. Acting? Was he an agent? An actor himself?  
"Acting? I've had no training, no drama teachers, but I bet I could make up something in a jiffy. You know, if the time comes when I need to. I might -" I was rambling and was cut off by his laughter. It was bark-like and I thought if fitted his persona perfectly.

"I won't say anything now, but you can pop by my flat when we get to London and I'll explain everything Miss...?"

I realised then that I hadn't even told him my name.

"Katherine Leigh, but just Kath please." I smiled, and I couldn't help but trust this man. I still don't know why./p"I'm Michael Ryan, Ex-British Army and on the run from the Spanish Police."

On the run from the Spanish Police. On the run! He was no agent. He was no actor. I looked at him and saw nothing but honesty in his eyes, and a thirst for adventure, a thirst I, myself shared.

"Okay. So, you're a criminal. Okay, I can deal with that." I muttered more to myself than to him, but he laughed anyway.  
"Brilliant!" he said and handed me whatever he was searching in his carrier bag for. "Meet me there at 3 o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

On the card was an address:

 _Venganza House,_  
 _Islington,_  
 _North London._

When I lifted my head up again he was gone.


End file.
